"Details," Aria said, waving her hand dramatically before collapsing into a seat. "Still counts if I outlasted them."

Caria set down a tray of freshly grilled shellfish and steaming bread rolls. "You lasted because they ran out of ale, not because you won."

"Victory by default is still victory," Aria mumbled, already reaching for the food.

Rhys hid a grin and took one of the rolls. "You're going to regret all this in the morning."

"I regret nothing!" she said through a mouthful of bread, then immediately coughed and reached for her drink again.

Lyra laughed softly beside him. "You know," she said, glancing around at the music and lights, "it's strange seeing everyone so calm after what happened. Like the whole city just… reset."

"That's the thing about people," Sophia said, sitting across from her. "We don't stop. We just start again somewhere else."

Caria nodded faintly. "And fix what's broken."

Rhys leaned back in his chair, looking toward the harbor where faint lights shimmered on the water. The tide had pulled back further now, leaving the coral pathways exposed like veins of glass under the moonlight. The city's mages were already working to reinforce the walls, their runes burning faint blue.

"Bluewave's tougher than it looks," he said finally. "Reminds me of someone."

Aria lifted her head, pointing at herself. "Me, right?"

"I was talking about Puddle," Rhys said dryly.

Puddle made a delighted sound, puffing up a little. "He means me."

Aria groaned dramatically. "Betrayed in my moment of glory…"

Lyra smiled. "You'll survive."

For a while, no one said much. The music shifted to something slower — a soft rhythm that mixed with the sound of waves and laughter. The sea breeze carried the scent of salt and smoke. Around them, the people of Bluewave raised cups, told stories, sang songs about courage and luck and second chances.

Caria looked at Rhys after a moment. "You think the attacks will keep coming?"

"Maybe," he said. "But not tonight."

"Then tonight," Aria said, raising her mug again, "we drink to staying alive!"

Sophia clinked her cup against hers. "And to not cleaning up your mess tomorrow."

"That too!"

Lyra lifted her glass with a quiet smile. "To Bluewave," she said softly. "And to all the fools who keep it standing."

Rhys met her eyes and nodded. "To Bluewave."

Their cups met with a soft clink, and for the first time in what felt like a long stretch of hours, the night didn't feel heavy — just full.

****

The first light of dawn crept through the curtains, soft and golden. It spilled across the wooden floorboards of the inn, painting faint ripples of warmth that danced with the breeze from the open window. The city outside was quiet for once — no alarms, no horns, just the hush of waves against the coral piers.

Rhys stirred, the scent of salt and clean air still heavy in the room. His body ached faintly — the good kind, earned after a hard fight and a night of too much celebration. He blinked against the sunlight, stretching slightly before sitting up.

Then he saw her.

Lyra stood by the window, the morning wind weaving through her long silver hair — hair that shimmered like threads of moonlight. The pendant she always wore rested against her collarbone, glowing faintly as if resonating with her heartbeat. Her presence filled the room, calm and radiant, like the sea itself had taken human shape.

For a moment, Rhys forgot to speak. The aura around her was unmistakable — powerful, serene, ancient. It wasn't the small, mischievous figure he'd known since their journey began. The seal that had bound her for centuries was gone; the air around her shimmered faintly with the quiet hum of released magic.

Her eyes met his — still the same deep, tranquil blue — but now carrying the weight and grace of someone who had lived through ages.

"…Lyra?" he asked quietly.

She smiled — the same gentle curve of her lips he knew, but somehow fuller, warmer. "You're awake," she said softly, her voice carrying that layered tone — light and ageless all at once.

Rhys stood, taking in the change. There was no trace of the fragile seal's glow that used to faintly circle her wrist. Only freedom now.

"The seal's… completely gone," he said, half to himself.

Lyra nodded, turning slightly toward the sea beyond the window. "It broke with the tide," she said. "When the ocean calmed, so did the magic that bound me."

Puddle, who had been dozing near the bedside in her small form, stirred and looked up, blinking bright silver eyes. "You look different, Lady Lyra," she said, tilting her head. "Like the ocean after a storm — clearer, deeper."

Lyra laughed softly. "I suppose that's one way to put it."

Rhys leaned against the wall beside her, watching the sunlight reflect off the waves. "Guess this means we'll have to get used to calling you 'Lady Lyra' again."

She turned to him with a teasing glint. "Only if you want to sound formal all the time."

He chuckled, shaking his head. "I'll pass."

The sea breeze caught her hair again, scattering light across the room like falling stars. There was no grandeur in the moment, no divine chorus — just quiet, living beauty, the kind that didn't need to announce itself.

Outside, Bluewave stirred awake — merchants opening stalls, gulls calling over the harbor, children laughing in the streets.

Rhys hesitated before speaking, watching the light shift across her face.

"So," he said quietly, "will you still follow me?"

Lyra turned, her silver hair catching the morning light. "Do I bother you by following you?" she asked softly.

For a moment, he couldn't answer. Her gaze held him still — calm, but deep enough to make his chest tighten. Those eyes weren't the same as before. They carried the weight of centuries now, oceans of memory behind every glance.

He managed to breathe out, "That's not what I meant."

"Then what did you mean?"

"I mean… your seal's gone now. You're not bound to me anymore. And from what I can feel—" he paused, swallowing, "—you've regained your full strength, haven't you?"

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